The Calamitous Bob

The villagers waited for hours, but eventually, she returned. The strange woman with the iron crown walked on the dirt path with her blade wings, her void eyes, and the emerald ring within. She came with a procession of mages and warriors of legend. Silver and rich fabrics adorned them as they passed them by, showing more wealth than the village had ever possessed. The Empress stopped to consider them, every man woman and child, even for an instant, and when she spoke, they listened.

"This is what a leader does. Not crush, not control or put down, because even though chaos is destructive, true order can only come from within. A leader rules from the front, weapon in hand, or from behind, directing competent followers. A leader may be many things that are not like you, but a leader must lead. The worth of a leader can be measured by the prosperity of those they lead. This is what you are owed by covenant, and in return, you must follow and serve the nation as best as you can."

The empress looked north, towards Frostbay and the emperor there. A man they had never seen, whose taxmen came with the harvest and whose soldiers were strangers seen only with fear.

"Your leaders have failed you. As a result you are weak and afraid. I will not ask you to fight for there are others who can do it in your stead, but at the very least, I will ask you to watch. You must stand and walk on your own feet so one day you may carry with pride, again, the title of Harrakan."

Her soul washed over them and they felt the belief behind her words. Those who could left their home with packs so they could tell those who had to remain behind. Like this, they reached the next village and told the villagers of one who had faced a dragon in single combat to protect them.

And won.

***

Arana felt blind. And deaf.

The Eye sent east towards the land of the little witch had not reported. They were elite spies recruited from the most capable hunters her tribe had ever produced, dedicated to the cause thanks to her path. Without their reports, she felt her influence shrivel like an old branch, the green of her control slipping to reveal the gnarled bark underneath.

Cerus' village had been successfully raided so not all was lost. The imperial ships traveling up and down the coast also returned, ready to be boarded in case the capital was attacked. As for the hostages, there were reports that the detachment was on its way back.

Arana still frowned when she watched the map. First her subordinates, then the east. The witch was nibbling at her resources. The group sent east should have cut the witch off but, somehow, it had not.

It would perhaps be better to send the assassins first.

***

"Two squads of Bitter Hearts engaged Arana's regulars near the first village, which we've taken to calling Eastgate. They were heavily outnumbered but fortunately, a Hadal scout managed to reach the nearby gate while it was open for resupply. The enemy was routed but… there were fatalities. Six soldiers. We also captured over fifty wounded regulars," Ban reported.

Viv leaned on the camp's command table.

Losing people wasn't new but this time, it was different.

Really different.

"I fucked up."

"Your Majesty, casualties are a reality of—"

She waved him off.

"Not this. We knew they were on the way, but I didn't react fast enough. Or rather, there was no one to react because I was preparing for the dragon fight. I should have left someone in charge."

She sighed.

"Both you and I are decent commanders but we need a general."

She was actually suffering from a lack of nobility. Not her personal character, the actual social layer that raised children with knowledge of tactics and strategy.

"Maybe Order Master Rollo should take that role."

"He said 'like hell' last time I asked," Ban said with a meaningful glance.

Viv sighed.

"If only I could poach Jaratalassi. Wait, there's an idea. I'll send him a letter. In the meanwhile, Arana owes me six lives."

"There is more."

Viv waited for the end of the briefing.

Arana was really going all out with being a terrible person.

"Your orders?"

"Get me Marruk, have a runner tell Lim to hurry with her preparations, and let Rakan know he can proceed."

"Understood."

"Wait, has Lim picked troops for her task?"

"Yes. Your linebreakers."

Viv's mind went blank. Linebreakers? She didn't have linebreakers. Unless he meant Solar's apprentices, but they were not nominally under… oh. Oh!

"The insane fanatics we rescued from the Empire of Dawn, right? Wait, they're ready for deployment?"

"They've been training for a little under a year, Your Grace. I saw them fight against revenant villages. They are insane bastards, but they're good at what they do. Solfis swore them in."

The old AI knew Viv was trying to hide something and since she'd given him a direct order not to come until victory was achieved, he was sending his worst goons instead. She should have anticipated he wouldn't let himself get sidelined so easily.

At first, Viv had refused them because linebreakers didn't fit with the Harrakan doctrine. It was a waste of time and men to form a new corps. Solfis had objected, saying that sometimes you needed troops that performed well in fast assaults or forest battles and yeah, the linebreakers would be it. They were perfect for the role.

Maybe it would be fine. Yeah.

"So… they've already departed?"

"Aye. And Lana and a few Sisters of the Eye went as well. Turned out the regulars did things to several villages that didn't sit right with them."

"Oh. Well. I'm sure the line breakers will exercise restraint. They know my stance on abuse."

***

"YOU HAVE SINNED!"

It was dawn In Arana's homeland. The valley had grown fat on the back of the nation. Tools, denied to the others, made every task easier. They were as plentiful as they were varied. Fruits for jam and liquor grew on old orchards while grain filled their granaries, their pastures green and grazed on by fat cattle. It was a haven, with tiled roofs and music, secluded evenings near a cold lake in summer, mulled wine and salted meat in winter. A perfect slice of what should have been.

No more.

"You have sinned against the people. You have murdered, terrorized, raped, robbed, and maimed. You have silenced and you have crushed those you were sworn to protect! You did! Your victims have borne witness!"

The regulars ran from the muster field to the nearby fortified camp. Many didn't have the time to grab their weapons, taken by surprise by the violence and speed of the attack. This had never happened before. No one had ever attacked them in recorded history. The scouts and outlying villages had reported nothing.

The regulars' numbers equaled those of the assailants, hundreds against hundreds, but fear needled them on. Surprise struck them dumb while their enemies came with purpose.

"You have sinned against yourself! You have grown fat and complacent! You have ignored the beasts and the southern tribes instead of fighting for every bit of safe land, as you should have! Your paths lay disused and atrophied!"

Quarrels found spines and knees. Spells turned the solid ground to muck under their feet, and the palissade rotted where it stood in front of them. Screaming packs of heavily armored soldiers ran after them with large swords and polearms. Ghosts shot them from the shadows. At the back, mages ruled the battlefield in dresses and heavy coats shining with runes, braids adorned with bones and trinkets. Sheds burned. Houses burned. Families ran into the woods to escape the conflagration. The valley had remained untouched by violence for centuries. It was all over now.

The man who spoke had a face covered in ritualistic tattoos. His strange blue skin betrayed his far eastern origins, for the locals had never seen the likes of it. When the light of the fires hit the markings, they shone ominously.

"But more unforgivable than any other crime, you have sinned against Harrak. You pathetic, worthless sacks of shit dared to call yourself imperials while you wallowed in mediocrity. There is no room in this continent for two empires. You have failed, and now, you will die. You will die for what you have done. You will die for what you failed to do. You will die on your feet, or on your knees but you will. Die. And we will be the ones to kill you. The Zealots are coming for you, sinners, blasphemers! And may Efestar grant you a second chance, because we will not."

With the desperate strength of soldiers defending their homes, the regulars gathered at the entrance of their fortified camp, soon joined by militia and hunters with bows. All those that remained outside of the palisade were cut down without mercy, and the warriors of the Remnants watched the black-clad raiders advance, incapable of helping those they had left behind. Polearms and other large weapons dripped with the blood of the fallen, an echo of the tattoos of their killers, visible under monstrous helmets. Horns and antlers adorned them in a parody of nature. It gave the attackers the appearance of an inhuman people who had come from some lost world to make sport of them.

The raiders gathered smoothly in separate formations that formed wings moving forward. Arrows flew, and most found their mark, but the enemy's armor was thick and its owners moved fluidly, not leaving anyone the time to aim.

"Wall! Form a shield wall! Gah!"

Quarrels picked off the leading officer just as the defenders gathered to make a stand near the gate, with crumbling logs on either side. Hunters and huntresses shot as fast as they could against the approaching horde. Again, quarrels picked them off and forced the survivors down. The shooters didn't care for age or gender. Anyone holding a weapon was dealt with on the spot.

Just as the line formed, hope returned. The assailants were well-equipped, yes, but inspection skills betrayed their lack of experience. They were just as green as the defenders, if not more.

So why, then, did the regulars feel so afraid?

The answer came soon. A spell finished off the wooden stakes until they crumbled. The regulars extended the line as fast as they could, stretching it while their skills flickered.

The zealots arrived.

The first to lead the charge were the deadliest and fiercest of them all. Their massive steel blades crashed down on the shield walls, or slammed through gaps in the formation, or into the helmets of those who were exposed. The shieldbreakers met the shields. They did exactly what they were trained to do.

The first to break the formation slammed into the backline and moved, sending men and women tumbling into the feet of their comrades in arms. The line buckled. More warriors breached the line. It wasn't long before it collapsed and the battle devolved into a brawl.

This was where the line breakers shone.

With quick movements, the heavily armed warriors smashed into bodies and shields with devastating strikes that sent unprepared warriors to the ground in great, chaotic piles. The zealots sang as they fought, or roared, and the echo of their cries under horned and antlered helmets gave them a demonic shape in the scarlet light of the new dawn. True to their words, the zealots spared no one. Those that retreated were caught and executed, either by sword or from the bolts of hidden Sisters of the Eye. Once done, the zealots looted the weapons, then burnt down the tents. The granaries were emptied and set alight. A blaze devoured the empty toolsheds, the opulent homes and wide town halls. They seized the cattle and slew all that resisted.

The valley fell in a single day, and the civilians were allowed to run back to Frostway to speak of their woes.

***

"We need to mobilize!" Marus said. "Go after the bitch!"

Arana pushed pins on a map, all the while holding a list of buried treasures. Just in case. She was as angry as he was, but she couldn't let it be seen. Control was everything. It started with control over oneself, a schooled expression, a composed posture. She couldn't let it get to her.

The knowledge.

That she was without recourse.

The truth was that the regulars would be enough to repel a southern tribe, or even several of them working in concert. The mages and guardians could take down most monsters. Unfortunately, those tools had been taken in the very first days, and she'd been powerless to stop it. Frosthawk was powerful, but it was all she could do to hold him at bay with hostages. The same was true of Cerus. They could not be trusted, so she had not trusted them, and now they didn't reply to her summons even assuming they received her messages at all.

She was playing with too few cards while the witch seemed to have an inexhaustible number of them.

Where did she even come from?

"We will. Unfortunately… Half of our men have deserted. They are returning to defend their homes."

"General Kobanis?"

"Is leading the relief effort. His son was with the home guard."

The Emperor mulled this over in sullen silence. For the first time, he showed fear.

Arana, too, had thought the general in their pockets forever, but when faced with the possibility of the loss of his home, he had not hesitated to ride back.

In a way, Arana should have seen it coming. His allegiance was to the clan, through her. No clan safety, no allegiance.

"The assassins must succeed."

"I agree."

***

The Eye ran for her life. It was a monster. Had to be.

"You won't get me!" Lanius said from the side. "You'll never get me!"

She kept running through the woods, between the heavy trunks that reeked of sap, the dead needles quieting her steps. She heard a clash of steel, a second, then came a yelp of pain. It was quickly silenced.

She kept running.

Did monsters wield axes?

This one did.

Her mad dash continued until all the voices around her were silenced. She stopped when a shape bled out of the shadows in front of her.

A tall man, bald, with a scarf hiding the lower part of his face. He was looking down.

The woman grabbed her shortsword.

"She sent you, didn't she? She had her own assassins."

The 'man' looked up, and she realized that her first instinct had been right. The slit pupils didn't belong to anything human. The creature certainly looked like one but the pallid face, hairless head, and those eyes, they spoke of something else.

"You are undead."

"No," the creature whispered. "I am very much alive."

"You don't have to serve her. You don't have to do this."

To her surprise, the creature nodded. Very firmly.

"I do not have to do this."

"THEN LET ME GO!"

"I don't do this because I have to. I do this because that's what I was made to do, and because it's fun."

It was like talking to a doll.

"You fucking monster, let me go."

"It's harder, is it not?" the monster asked with a very calm voice.

He ran to the side, his steps lighter than hers. Her desperate attempt at escape was aborted as soon as it started when a blade whistled past her nose. She turned and dodged an attack with a shadow step only for the monster to follow her. His voice rang in her ear. For the first time, there was an emotion there. It practically dripped with venom.

"Harder when you're not killing young poachers?"

Her shortsword snaked out, but it found only air. Her instincts took over even with the next attack coming from a blind spot. The sword clanged against the edge of an axe. The angle was wrong, though.

The power of the strike sent her flying against a stump. She struck it with her back. Got to her feet with pain. Realized she was bleeding. The sound of metal through soil forced her to raise her head, watch the monster approach casually with his bloody weapon.

"Fuck you!" she spat.

"We could have ended all of this in five minutes had the empress ordered it."

The woman froze. She'd never considered the implications of her dying, but now, in that short moment, she did. The Emperor and the senate relied on the Eyes.

"But she didn't. She doesn't want to order us as assassins, even though some of us would do it. We would choose to be the blades in the dark, for our people."

The monster shrugged.

"That's why I'm here. I don't need to be asked. And you are making it a very easy decision."

The woman thought she could block one more attack, at least, but the Hadal used a skill and his axe severed her neck cleanly. When Zero-Five was done, he cleaned his blade, then put his mask back on.

Irao was right that the Hadals deserved the gift of choice.

His choice was simply more violence.

***

North of Frostway, the land grew more savage along the coast. Marshes replaced the forest along the windswept valleys. In summer when the temperature became pleasant, a thin, frosty layer of salt formed on the surface which the locals harvested for a few more iron bits. Bees buzzed on wildflowers with the upcoming spring. The land was rich, but its people were poor. Rakan and his detachment walked past villages held together by string and flotsam, stacked stones, and hope. Its people had huddled inside to watch them go fearfully. Talking to an elder had proven almost impossible, the old man barely speaking a few words of imperial. Along the coast, the language had been lost.

There were many such villages as he traveled north. Dozens just along the path, each as parochial as the next. Few travelers walked the disused roads, mostly young families carrying their lives on their back as they sought land in outlying regions. It pained him to watch them so miserable, and so unguarded. One of the elders spoke of a large wolf, but Rakan didn't have the time.

He was on a mission.

The Hadal guiding them brought them through secret paths down to a hidden creek, a deep one with water as blue as cold ice. Rickety buildings hugged a single pier upon which a small ship bobbed, men loading it with crates of supplies at a leisurely pace. Stacks of simple cloth bags waites by the main warehouse. Rakan inspected them.

[Crushed Limestone]

Hmm. Inexpensive stuff used to form concrete, Rakan remembered. Very useful for construction. Exceptionally malleable in the hands of brown mana specialists. There were a lot more bags than there were supplies.

"I think we're going to need food and two portals, captain," he said.

The leader of the Hightree company nodded. He was one of the earlier veterans to recover his eyes thanks to Viv, but sometimes, Rakan thought she should have regrown his tongue instead. The man spoke like each word was worth a water flask. His men even called him Hush. He had a short stature and the very broad shoulders of an archer, which he was primarily. A short beard and long hair gave him a wild look that fit his company.

Behind him, the rest of his men used the lull to check their weapons. Bows, crossbows, spears, swords, sabers, slings and axes were checked and rechecked. Rakan knew the Hightrees were drawn from a dozen different militaries, with different traditions. They were not as cohesive as the Mountain Lords, but cohesion wasn't what Rakan needed right now.

He grabbed his staff and set to work, pulling some of the stored brown mana to set the disk of flat stone he would need for the portal. Pushing the mana into a construct before it could escape his leaking core, he carved the land with a soft touch, cooking it to follow his direction. He liked brown mana. It was solid. Dependable. It could block the sun as easily as a hail of arrows.

A quick glance at the staff confirmed that he wouldn't have enough colorless mana so he drew mana from the earth and his own leaking core, pushing it into the brown core which happened to be the largest. It took a while, but he wouldn't attack until the night settled anyway. Hush led his men to form a camp and set up sentries in the meantime. They, too, were dependable.

Below, the Remnants' sailors and soldiers remained unaware of their presence. They didn't even send patrols out past the basic wood wall that encircled their small jetty.

That was fine with Rakan. With a last sigh, he continued his work.

Drawing mana from the brown core, he turned it colorless with an ease born from practice. Setting the construct was easy. The harder part started now.

"Space is like a grid, it can bend."

Rakan visualized the graph Viv had drawn for him. He also remembered the very strange movies he enjoyed so much and that Viv occasionally aired for him in her study. Space was not a distance or a theoretical concept but a three-dimensional continuum that wasn't quite as immutable as he had thought. It bent around very large objects like the sun, the moons, and Viv's ego. It could bend. It definitely, definitely could bend.

"Space is like a grid. It CAN bend."

He repeated the mantra until sweat covered his brow and the circle shown under his feet. He could do it. He'd done it before. Space was like a grid and Rakan would make it bend.

How the fuck did those two manage it so easily. Viv even admitted he was more talented than she was.

Rakan breathed deep, letting his pride suffuse his psyche. It was easy. Space was a grid and he would make it bend. Just like that.

The air pulsed.